Sunday, the 5th of April
The room was almost stifling with the pungent stench of several hours' worth of ink, Kyle mindlessly running his thumb along the corner of a pile of waiting, addressed envelopes and staring blankly at the elegantly scripted curvatures of the calligraphy. How Bebe could stay enthralled rewriting the same damn party invitation time and again was beyond him, but from the sound of her subdued hums and the way her head softly bounced in time, seemed she was pretty happy to be doing so.
Bebe's right wrist clicked as she put a final, swooping line under her signature, nodding in satisfaction and placing her pen in its stand. She fanned over the wet ink, looking over to Kyle's dismayed slumping and twisting her lips. She gave a cursory glance around the room for any drifting servants before turning back and giving him a light elbow against his arm. "He's not gone yet, you know," she reminded him. "You have tonight."
"Goodie," he muttered, dragging the back of his fingernail up over the sharp corner of the paper stack. "A countdown to an empty house."
Bebe sighed, a curled tendril hanging in her face pushing up and flopping back down atop her forehead. "Aren't you the one who encouraged him to go?"
He pouted, "Yes, but what was I supposed to say? "Stay home and lose your job because I'll be sad"?"
She shrugged, offering him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before sliding her dried invitation towards him. "I know it's hard," she said, "but, you said it yourself, this is a good opportunity for him. For both of you."
Kyle winced, shying down guiltily as he took the paper from the desk and began to fold it down. He knew she was right; it'd been all-but a mantra for himself and for Kenny the last couple of days.
Still, didn't exactly make the concept of separation any easier.
"You two have weathered worse," she continued firmly, readying herself yet another parchment.
"We haven't spent this much time apart since right after we met," he grumbled. "Can't get much worse than that."
She rolled her eyes, voice dropping flatly. "How about the hiding you two have done for four years? How about all the excuses you have to make and having to live in squalor and-"
"The squalor has nothing to do with us being together," he mocked. "That's just... ya know... being poor."
She gave him a sharp side-eye. "Kyle, you know just as well as I do that you could have a much better job if you wanted it."
Kyle's eyes dropped as he went about prepping the folded parchment's envelope. She wasn't too far off, his boss had offered him an apprenticeship and to help send him off to school time and again for years, but he always had an excuse in his back pocket. That he was too sick too often and would be a burden. That he wasn't able to put in the hours required. That he was too backlogged on transcripts and they couldn't afford to train someone to get up to his speed without sacrificing far too much progress. That his lawyer father's deathbed plea was for Kyle to forego following in his footsteps.
But, he and Kenny had found, it boiled down more to balance.
They needed enough to buy food and pay rent. They needed enough to procure logs of ash to keep their stove kindling. But if either of them started earning too much more and continued living in their ramshackle flat with a roommate, suspicions would flare, and they wouldn't be able to stop it. Kenny was far safer, had the benefit of being a commissioned worker and could tell people he just had a slow stint of time to explain why moving out would be so uncertain.
If Kyle found himself being pulled through the motions of becoming an educated man and moving up the ladder to a salaried, distinguished career through his line of work, it would turn into a much larger problem than they would be able to handle. Any excuses of "just wanting to be a good friend and make sure Kenny doesn't starve" would be challenged with him finding his own home and merely sending Kenny the funds to survive. Without it being a seemingly last-resort necessity for two helpless bachelors, the ruse lost all power. And so, Kyle resigned to staying at the bottom of the social hierarchy, easily deciding that being able to come home to Kenny outweighed a lack of mental stimulation in his career and the ever-present possibility of being thrown into an asylum to be "cured".
Still, didn't make Kyle exactly thrilled to be shackled to a lifetime of possible starvation.
He sighed, grabbing a tarnishing spoon filled with bits of vermillion paraffin and holding it languidly over the flickering flame of the candlestick in front of him. "Are you really going to blame me for not moving forward, Bebe?" he asked.
Bebe paused her scripture, glancing back over to him and her face sliding into a sympathetic pout. "No," she said softly. She swept a straying curl back over her shoulder, teeth clacking together guiltily.
It was hard to watch Kenny and Kyle, seeing the subtle signs they sent one another that they were standing too close together or that they needed to immediately dismiss an emerging gaze of adoration on the off chance a passerby would see. Even around Bebe they struggled, knowing her home was crawling with servants and plenty of them would leap at the opportunity to be rewarded for reporting such degeneracy.
She watched Kyle slowly and methodically pouring a dollop of wax to press the envelope flap into, seeing the melancholy of his stare as he poured the rest into as symmetrical a disc as he could manage atop the middle of the packet.
The hollowness reminded her far too much of how he seemed growing up alongside one another: Always either hiding in corners at parties or all-but glued to her side in what he called his constant awkward panic. It hadn't taken long for Bebe to figure out his problem once they'd both reached their courting age, Bebe finding herself and other women flocked by men while Kyle stood aside and made no attempts to go near any of her friends of the fairer sex. He was brimming with excuses, mainly leaning on "Well none of them are Jewish so my mother wouldn't approve".
But Bebe had known Sheila since she and Kyle had met and immediately bonded at a mere three years old, knew her well enough to know she'd approve of anyone that would make her son happy. But, she allowed him to keep using that alibi, pretending not to notice how his eyes drifted to the thrall of tall, muscular men that would so often wander into her social soirees.
It wasn't until they were twenty-two and Kyle had had just a few too many brandies that he finally broke once she'd lightly approached the subject. She'd never seen him look so terrified, could see even through the drunken glaze that he was expecting nearly two decades of friendship to be decimated immediately and his life as a free man to finally be at its end. Even with her reassurances and letting him cry on her shoulder for a good two hours, she wasn't a fool, saw in the following months that the air of suspicion lingered. He kept waiting for her to surprise him one day with some foreign authoritative power that she'd called upon to ensure he got a far more damning sentence than one he'd receive in Dellwyn.
Her first success in finding him another man of similar circumstance, however, dealt with that skepticism.
He had been nothing either of them could claim as "special"; a fledgling, already stale author who made his way in and out of towns like one would a frock coat. But, at the time, it was the best Bebe could manage for him. And a handful of meet-ups with the author -what had been his name? Chester? Charles?- were enough to sate Kyle's ever-growing need for some level of attention. At least until Bebe had reeled in a much bigger fish.
"Well look at it this way," she said, bringing her voice up into a chipper beat, "when he finally comes home, you two will have a lovely reunion."
Kyle gave a small snort, "Nothing the two of us do is lovely, trust me."
She rolled her eyes with a smirk, "All right fine. It will be handsome and, knowing your lungs, deafening." Kyle finally cracked enough of a smile for her to feel safe in pivoting the subject. "You know, you could always spend that time with me," she said casually. "I can find ways to keep you occupied."
"Your means of keeping me 'occupied' somehow always involve me giving you fashion advice. And then you always do the exact opposite of what I say," he said dryly.
"Well, Sweetie, there's a reason for that," she gave him a soft side-eye. "Besides, you're invited to this too, you know," she waved a finished invitation in the air before pushing it towards him to package.
Kyle's nose scrunched. "Your parties are full of intellectuals who make fun of me for my job." He looked down at the invitation before him with distaste. "I don't think Doctor Craig Tucker is going to want to make conversation with a transcriptionist."
"Hm, from what I hear, Dr. Tucker doesn't make conversation with nearly anyone, regardless of their field," she smirked. "Besides, you are an intellectual, Kyle. Your parents made damn well sure of it. You can make conversation with the best of them."
"Doesn't count without the pay rate," he sighed, scratching at his curls before beginning to prepare his wax spoon once more.
She sighed, "Oh, Kyle, stop being so dreary. Stay with me and be pampered for a little while. You've earned it."
"You really want to deal with that rumor mill all over again, Bebe?"
She waved off the notion, "We both know those accusations aren't anything feasible. Besides, they've saved your unsubtle ass on more than one occasion." Kyle couldn't argue, opting for a wincing nod. "And few will think that once I've made my rounds at this party," she said, face breaking into a wide grin. "I love the spring; this city is just full of eligible men."
Kyle nodded once more as he watched wax drizzle atop the parchment in melding ribbons. Springtime was never easy for him in his pre-Kenny years. Bebe was right, his lack of subtlety had tried time and again to be his undoing as he was almost always unable to help a wandering eye. The thaw of sea ice brought in a large network of traders and travelers, as well as the educated men Bebe so loved to court wandering back to attend to their practices and Dellwyn's university. Distinguished tourists were abound, and lifetime residents would, in the same breath, eagerly await each coin they would send their way while making a loud fuss as they realized that more people meant less space for themselves.
"Besides," Bebe continued, "it's something to keep your mind occupied, even if it's not your favorite thing. It's far better than you sitting inside your house staring at the wall and being sad."
"I would not stare at the wall," he argued.
"Oh, my mistake," she drawled. "No, you would stare at your transcriptions and be sad." Kyle pouted. "You know that Kenny would rather you be here, too," she reminded him. "It's not safe for either of you to be in that house by yourselves."
Kyle scoffed and rolled his eyes. She wasn't wrong but like hell he was giving her that level of power. His neighborhood only experienced an average of three murders per week. Obviously 'not safe' was merely a hyperbole from a sheltered socialite. "I'll consider it," he said, mouth twisting in annoyance at the smugness on her face. "Speaking of my horrible, "unsafe" home," he started dryly, pushing his chair from the table, "Ken'll be there soon."
"When does he leave?" She asked.
"Early. The train leaves at 5."
"Well, give him my love," she said as she leaned over and kissed by Kyle's cheek. "And you can have some, too I suppose."
"Gee, thanks," he scoffed, getting up and stretching as he grabbed his coat from the back of his chair.
As he started to walk off towards the foyer, she called back without leaving the attention of her working fountain pen, "You had better be packed and here by supper tomorrow!"
Kyle paused, looking back at her and opening his mouth to tell her to stop bossing him around before just sinking with an aggravated sigh. Why even bother? He decided instead to delude himself into thinking he had the upper hand, walking off without a word and ignoring how he could feel that damnable smug smirk of hers once again dominating the room.
The thirty minute walk between Bebe's upscale neighborhood on the cusp of Dellwyn's small, northern peninsula down southeast into the landlocked red-light district was always a trip Kyle abhorred. He'd grown up in that neighborhood with her, but he never noticed the inequity of it all until he'd lost his parents and had handed the majority of his inheritance to his younger brother to put him through university off past the mountains in the country of Tamrille. He had downgraded into middle class just fine, happy enough to stay in his apartment and begin working his way up the ladder, knowing from Ike's frequent letters that he'd made the correct choice.
Until he'd found himself helplessly enamored with the drawling, destitute blond who'd wandered his way up from Sheffield. Then that middle-class apartment seemed so much more dangerous than he had previously realized despite his own struggles to just go by unnoticed. The complex he resided in was full of gossipers much to his chagrin. Months of trying desperately to sneak Kenny into his home had been unsuccessful, and Kenny's own dilapidated apartment had walls the width of a thumbnail it seemed, as they heard every light tap his neighbor did to empty his pipe.
And so, a story was constructed.
Kyle spent weeks moping around, lamenting to coworkers about his brother apparently being struck ill. It started simple, morphing from hearing one of the lawyers he worked with coughing and casually giving the advice "Keep an eye on yourself, my brother in Tamrille wrote me that he has a cold so it must be working its way around fast" to eventually turning into a tale of woe of full-blown pneumonia. And so, what was a protective older brother to do? Send him the money for medical costs of course. Which meant, tragically, he could no longer afford his higher rent and would have to once more downgrade all the way down to the poorest district in the city. And, of course, he was just too proud to accept offers of help from his peers. The only help he would accept was that of a housemate, someone who could afford to move up from an apartment to a singular house if the costs were evenly split, even if it was only four blocks up from where they started.
After all, it was just the right thing to do.
But, despite how Kyle regretted nothing of what he had done. Despite knowing that his mother was rolling over in her grave at the notion of her eldest son living down the street from the city's largest brothel and had exchanged pleasantries with more prostitutes on his way to work than she'd probably ever passed by in her entire life… A part of him loathed it all. How the streets and buildings became so much more noticeably dirty as he walked back towards home. How more than once he'd found himself held up at the tip of a penknife and had to empty his pockets and throw the money into the street to safely rush off while they scurried for his change. How much the attitude of the people he passed changed depending on merely what direction he was heading. Heading south? You're obviously coming from the richer part of town and deserve a hat tip and a greeting for your bravery in meandering closer to the wretches of the city. Heading north? The poor are invading, and we need to spit on your shoes and call you gutter trash before you come near us and our valuables.
But, it had its advantages, too.
The noise was much louder, more people crammed into smaller space meant more chatter and being able to more easily disguise noises made within their home. People here also didn't care about you unless you drew attention to yourself. Blending in and keeping one's head down was not a social faux pas as it was uptown, it was expected.
Besides, Kenny liked it. He'd told Kyle, before he knew of his upper-class roots, that the people in the red-light district were real people. The mask of social graces was shed, and everyone had dirty teeth that from behind them even dirtier phrases were spewed left and right. Aside from the one aspect of who they found themselves in bed with, they really could be themselves. Kenny called Bebe the only exception, but even she had a snootiness that couldn't be ignored that all rich people had. Not like them, not like the real people in the world.
One of Kyle's favorite early memories of Kenny was the moment after he'd oh-so-casually asked, "So did you know Bebe and I were neighbors until I was 21?"
He hadn't seen Kenny's face get so pale since then, nor had he heard such desperate, apologetic stammering and trying so damn hard to smooth it over by calling Kyle the real exception to every rule he had. He hadn't cared about what Kenny had said. He was right, after all. But he certainly was not going to interrupt his try-hard apology that lapsed rather quickly from bumbling turns of phrase into a much more effective and quieter methodology. At least, quieter on Ken's end.
Kyle's aching feet finally came to a stop in front of a brick house, looking up at the shuttered windows with a lengthy, sad sigh. Realer people or not, he'd love nothing more than to get them somewhere nicer. Kenny had grown up poor, he deserved a better life by this age. They'd heard rumors of more accepting places across the continent, down in Maskell, where people wouldn't be happy about them, but they'd leave them to their own devices and not slam them in the asylum. But rumors were just that, only rumors until someone came forward with more definitive proof.
They'd both found themselves in too many precarious situations across their lifetimes apart to not know that operating together required far more foresight than running off to chase only a possible happy ending.
He grabbed a cast iron key from a pocket hidden behind the true one his slacks had came with as he made way up the creaking stairs. A trick that Kenny had taught him after his first mugging, Kyle watching him in interest at the dexterity with which he sewed the additional rectangle of fabric within a small seam rip he'd made in the original pocket. "Now if they tell ya to turn 'em out, you'll still have stuff hidden," he'd money was one thing, losing the key to the house and being secretly followed home after the ordeal opened them up to a lot more problems. Soon Kyle's entire wardrobe had been fitted with them, Kenny advising him to always keep at least some change in the main pocket, so they didn't get suspicious and start grabbing and feel the key and know that he was playing them.
Kyle pouted as he slid the key into its lock. Being poor was fucking exhausting.
He hurriedly made his way into the house and slipped into the door, just as quickly redoing the lock and glancing around their front room. "Ken?" he called. He narrowed his eyes, seeing Kenny's workbag casually tossed onto a chair. He looked towards the rickety steps leading to their bedrooms, humming and stepping off towards them. He hollered for Kenny again, still getting no response and blinking. Maybe he had to run back to work, or step out on an errand, though he usually left a note if he had to do that. Or maybe he-
Possibilities were rapidly interrupted as the back of his shirt was grabbed and he was ripped backwards, Kyle dropping his coat and yelping as he was slammed against a warm body and a deft hand came up to grip his chin. "I leave in less than twelve hours," a husky voice purred, "and yet you kept me waiting."
Kyle's heart simmered at the familiar timbre and he coughed out a light laugh to try to cover his hitched breath. "Well, maybe I just like to keep you in anticipation."
Lips pressed into the back of his neck curled into a smirk. "Or you just want me to make up for lost time," he said, planting a firm kiss on the nape of his neck at the small shrug he got. He pressed them forward, urging Kyle to start up the stairs as he reached up to pull down Kyle's collar and dig his teeth into newly exposed skin. Kyle's hand gripped the railing tightly, Kenny's doting mouth making it difficult to do something so inconvenient as walking. He tried to turn to face him, stopped by Kenny's fingers tightening on his chin and letting out an impatient whine, hurrying to finish leading them both to the second floor.
It smelled of dampness and wood rot, the floorboards creaked with each step of scuffed leather shoes and were lit by a lone candle in a simple sconce settled in the middle of the wall between their bedrooms on opposite sides of the hall. Once they finally reached the landing, Kenny's fingers left his chin and gripped his shoulder, whirling him around to dig his face into the crook of his throat and continue suckling, Kyle perching up on his toes to swivel his head and return the favor.
"What room ya stayin' in while I'm gone?" Kenny murmured, giving his throat a nice, firm bite and getting a long-winded moan.
Kyle's lashes fluttered, tilting his head to lightly grip Kenny's earlobe between his teeth. Lanky fingers traced down to the buttons of his charcoal grey waistcoat, hurriedly popping them out of place and forcing his arms back with a firm pull against the back fabric for Kenny to rip off and throw against the wall. They both got to work on the knots of one another's cravat.
"Yours," he finally answered, feeling yet another smirk as Kenny began pushing him backwards towards the open door on the right.
"Gonna miss me that much?" he cooed, tossing Kyle's silk down and finally finding his way to the last obstacle before bare skin and dexterously working his way down the line of buttons in his way.
"Would you rather I didn't?" Kyle murmured, his impatience impeding being quite so nimble and still stuck on the first few buttons of Kenny's shirt as his own was already being torn open and untucked from his trousers. Kenny grabbed his hands from his shirt and gently pushed them away, allowing him to slip the fabric down and off Kyle's thin frame and onto the floor, continuing to lead him back to the bed, both of them hopping awkwardly trying to toe off their button boots and worn cotton stockings.
Bare feet feeling the splintering push of his floor, Kenny sighed, kissing Kyle's forehead before pressing his own atop it, both of their hands flying back in place to strip one another down. "Be pretty upset if you didn't," he teased lightly.
"Well then it's your lucky day," Kyle said, planting a soft kiss on his lips as Kenny managed at last to force his trousers and drawers to coil down his legs and around his ankles, finding his way to Kenny's chest and running his fingers over it. "I'm gonna miss you a lot," he purred.
Kenny shoved him onto the mattress and the room echoed with the aggravated squeak of the metal springs, following him and kissing him, hands reaching around his thin waist to reposition him straight along the bed. In a comically large showing of impatience, Kyle's ears caught the rapid succession of different pieces of cloth being thrown around the room and slapping against the ground before bare skin was touching his own, Kenny pressing his naked self between his legs and settling into long, slow grinds of hardened skin.
Kenny finally pulled from his lips by a fraction of an inch, tonguing the string of spittle between them and panting as he rocked against an arching Kyle. "This is gonna be torture," he said softly.
"Well if it's gonna be that bad I'd rather not fuck," Kyle joked, shivering, and moaning at a harder push. He chuckled, biting his lip and bringing his hands up to cup Kenny's face. "Hopefully, this month will pass as quickly as the last few days," he said softly.
"God, I hope so," Kenny murmured, blue eyes flickering with a deep-seated guilt.
"Shh," Kyle whispered, leaning up and placing soft pecks around his chin. "Let's make sure you leave at least somewhat happily, hm?"
Kenny smiled, shaking his head lightly and reaching over to stand beside them, flipping the porcelain lid off a small bowl and dipping his fingers into a waiting pool of oil. "That's not gonna happen," he said sadly, taking his hand and working it down between Kyle's legs. "But," he said, mischief growing on his face, "I can make damn well sure you don't forget me," he growled, pressing a sudden finger inside and watching Kyle arch in surprise with a loud gasp.
It was amazing, Kenny thought, being so torn through the motions. The entire day had been nothing but a steady droning of dread. Gathering paperwork and having a final meeting with his boss to get his train tickets had been an exercise in his self-control to not become a whiny, sniveling mess on the floor. It felt ridiculous, wanting so badly to be stuck at home in a poorly ventilated mold trap.
But, watching the greens of Kyle's eyes smoldering and the way sinewy curves pushed up to meet him, hearing the chorus of vocalizations unable to stop escaping kiss-swollen lips, Kenny felt complete. Here in their home, in their beds, they didn't need to maintain a foot of distance apart, they didn't need to hide a fucking thing.
And as he pressed his oiled cock inside the man beneath him, watched how his brow knitted and his mouth gaped open in a pleasured moan and how thin, slickened fingers clawed against him so fiercely, he thanked God for the blessings of their dilapidated home. He thanked Him for the cracking walls and the heavy curtains that retained far too much heat, for all the bare necessities that allowed them to be where they were: A tangled mess of skin and sweat, of his own moans and Kyle's pleading. The world outside was hard and it was upsetting, so few things ever seemed to work in their favor as they hid themselves amongst the shadows of a somehow simultaneously uncaring and yet judgmental world.
But here, that all melted away, seeped into their floorboards like rainwater. Nothing hidden from one another, all of it on display for only themselves and, if the prim and scandalized were to be believed, for the eyes of God as well.
'Oh well', Kenny thought, pressing faster into Kyle's opened body and watching tendrils of hair catching licks of sweat to ride along a frizzing red curl, hearing how Kyle neared screaming as his hand wrapped around his leaking cock, how his hips raised to meet Kenny's relentless rhythm. Kenny pressed down and muffled him with a tongue thrusting into his mouth as the unyielding world became nothing more than a blinding splash of white euphoria vignetted around the man he was so desperately in love with.
'Let Him watch.'